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This is all still new, and Nick feels like the blood in his veins is sparkling.
Charlie is straddling him on the bed, sucking a bruise into his neck — closer to his collarbone, low enough that it’ll fall beneath the collar of his school shirts.
They’re getting practiced at exactly where that line is. Today, if it proceeds the way Nick is expecting, will be their — fifth? no, is it the sixth? — time having sex.
It amazes Nick and gives him a little pang in his heart that he’s starting to lose count.
Nick is reaching down for the hem of his own t-shirt, about to pull it up and over his head, when Charlie covers Nick’s hands in his own and says “No, stop!”
Nick freezes, always so intensely mindful of Charlie’s comfort, his consent. He puts his hands on Charlie’s hips, about to shift him up and away from his body, because really he’s so hard and if Charlie’s wanting to stop he probably doesn’t want to feel…that…
“Are you okay?” he says, worried. “We can stop.”
Charlie laughs and it’s gorgeous; Nick swears he can feel that laugh in his own body.
“No, no,” he says, calm and cool. “I just…can I take your clothes off this time?”
And Nick isn’t quite sure why it’s so different, why that suggestion spreads such liquid heat through his stomach and groin, but oh.
“Yes,” he chokes out. “Yes, please.”
So Charlie lifts Nick’s shirt over his head, runs his hands over his abdomen, sucks a nipple between his lips. He pulls Nick’s shorts and boxers off, while the older boy lifts his hips to help. He guides Nick to the edge of the bed, then drops to the floor and gets on his knees, and oh, Nick feels like he’s flying.
He cannot believe he gets to do this.
Uni:
Charlie will never forget the moment he saw Nick take that hit on the pitch. He swears he heard his head collide with the ground.
He spends a horrible, anxious couple of hours at hospital while Nick is checked out, then gets him home in a taxi after the doctor explains that Nick has a concussion, but should heal on his own in the next several days.
They get back to Nick’s flat and the older boy immediately looks longingly at his bed — but the doctor told them to give it another four hours before Nick sleeps, and more to the point, he’s still in his rugby kit and absolutely covered in mud.
“Come here, baby,” Charlie says gently. “Let’s get you in the shower. Can I take your clothes off for you?”
Nick hums his assent, delicately resting his muddy, aching forehead against Charlie’s. He follows him into the bathroom, where Charlie quickly strips him and balls up the muddy clothes in the sink.
Quickly, Charlie realizes he’s going to have to get in the shower himself to make this work, and efficiently divests himself of his own clothing.
He guides Nick into the shower and under the spray, his boyfriend leaning back against him as Charlie washes his hair and gently scrubs his body.
He tries not to linger between his legs, no matter how desperate Nick’s whining sigh is when he washes him there.
“Nick,” Charlie says, aiming for stern and not quite nailing it. “If you come you’re going to fall asleep the second you get out of this shower. I will later, okay? I promise.”
He gets Nick clean and out of the shower, dries him off with one of his fluffy white towels and helps him step into a clean pair of boxers and guides him to the bed.
They lie there for the next three hours as Charlie pulls out all the stops to keep Nick awake, gossiping and telling him long, winding stories, only occasionally breaking to stroke his damp hair or lay a gentle kiss on his cheek.
And when the hours have passed, Charlie has to skip making good on his earlier promise, because Nick immediately closes his eyes and falls into a deep, peaceful sleep.
20s:
Nick’s been teaching for exactly two weeks now and Charlie is pretty certain he’s never seen another human being so exhausted.
He’s trying valiantly to hide it. If Charlie knows Nick — and he does, he knows Nick better than knows himself — his boyfriend is worried about being present for Charlie. He’s trying to be a good boyfriend, the best boyfriend, instead of just letting himself collapse into rest in the evenings like he needs to.
On Thursday evening, Nick trudges through the door of their cheap little flat with an armful of Tesco bags. He has dark circles under his eyes and Charlie can physically see him trying to push through and sparkle for him.
“I bought ingredients for that minestrone soup you like!” Nick says, and it’s not that the cheer is forced, exactly, but the energy certainly is.
Charlie crosses the room, kisses Nick’s stubbled cheek, and takes the bags from his hand.
“Nope,” he says gently. “Not tonight. You’re going to rest.”
“Char?” Nick replies, sounding confused but also, the tiniest bit relieved.
“I love you so much for buying all of this,” he tells him. “And I’ll put everything away and we’ll make it together over the weekend. But tonight I just want to take care of you, okay?”
Nick exhales a huge sigh and draws Charlie up into his arms.
“I love you,” he says, muffled into his neck.
Charlie draws back and kisses him on the lips, ever-so-briefly.
“I love you, too,” he says, and he can tell his own eyes are sparkling. “I ran you a warm bath when I saw your location change. Want to go soak while I put these groceries up?”
Charlie does just that, stashing away the onions and celery stalks and tinned white beans, then joins Nick in the bathroom.
He finds he’s not yet in the tub, just sitting on the closed toilet lid with his head in his hands.
“Nick,” Charlie says softly. “Do you want to get in the bath still? Can I help you take your clothes off and help you in?”
Nick nods and rises, blearily. Charlie undresses him gently, slowly, then helps him lower himself into the water.
He doesn’t join him in the tub, just sits down criss-crossed on the floor beside him and smiles softly when he sees Nick’s eyes already dropping shut.
“Don’t fall asleep in the water, sweetheart,” he says, his chest so full of love he feels like it might crack open. He reaches a hand out, balancing his elbow on the ledge of the tub so Nick can rest his head in Charlie’s palm.
Later he crosses his arms one over the other, pulling his hulking rugby boyfriend — his hulking teacher-tired boyfriend — out of the cooling water. He helps him dress in a pair of flannel pajama pants, then falls into bed with him, spooning him tightly, while Nick sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.
30s:
Nick is still in his horrible suit from his horrible absentee father’s horrible funeral.
Just putting it bluntly.
He’s collapsed onto his and Charlie’s bed, still in the stupid suit that he can feel constricting his blood flow, and he’s got the chunky blanket they keep at the end of their bed unfolded over him, because…
God. Because he is humiliatingly, confusingly, unaccountably hard. While still wearing the suit from his father’s funeral.
His mind is still spinning as Charlie comes into the room, having fed Daisy and gotten her settled, unlooping his own tie from his neck and shrugging his own black suit jacket off his shoulders.
And why? Why is Nick reacting how he is right now to these sights — to Charlie’s slim, muscled shoulders and his long, elegant fingers unwinding a tie? What is this fire in his lower belly right now, and what does it say about Nick that it’s there?
Charlie collapses into the bed beside Nick, lifting up the blanket to snuggle underneath it with him, and Nick freezes and unconsciously shifts away.
“Oh,” Charlie says, sounding taken aback. “Do you…do you want to be alone?”
Nick understands the tone of shock. He has never, ever once in his life coped with anything by wanting to be apart from Charlie Nelson-Spring. And he cannot bear the thought of Charlie thinking that’s the case, so even though he’s burning with shame, he decides to tell him the truth.
“No,” Nick says, a little fiercely. “No, I…Charlie, I’m going to tell you something and just know I’m disgusted with myself already, alright, and I don’t understand, but I’m…feeling really turned on right now. And I don’t know why! We’ve just gotten back from my…from…and I can’t understand what’s wrong with me or why I’m…”
“Oh!” Charlie exclaims, and he immediately pulls his husband into his arms, kissing the top of his head. Nick feels his erection press into Charlie’s suited thigh, and he’s horrified with himself still, but Charlie…doesn’t seem to be?
“Nick, no, you’re not — it’s like a documented psychological reaction,” Charlie explains. “It happens to all sorts of people, it happens all the time. I’ve read about it before. It’s about — it’s about coming close to death and then proving that you’re still alive.”
Charlie has his arms circled around Nick and he’s rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and the small of his back with the other. He wipes a tear from the corner of Nick’s eye, kisses the top of his head two, three, four more times.
Nick raises up and looks into Charlie’s brilliant blue eyes.
“So it’s not —“ he tries not to crumble as he’s saying it. “I’m not some kind of…pervert or freak or…”
“Oh, baby, no! No,” Charlie coos, still rubbing Nick’s back. “You’re just human. You’re doing what humans do.”
He keeps touching Nick, rubbing his back, stroking his hair, running a thumb over his lips.
“Do you want to, baby? Or does it feel theoretical and you’d rather just sleep?”
Nick still feels a little surprised at the offer, is still working to shake off the shame.
“Are you…are you sure? You wouldn’t feel, like, freaked out or dirty?”
Charlie leans in and kisses him, deeply, on the mouth.
“There is nothing dirty about you and me together,” he tells him. “Ever.”
Nick takes a deep, shuddering breath and then winds his fingers through Charlie’s curls, nodding his head hard.
“Then yes, yes, please yes,” he says.
Charlie kisses his neck, lifts his hands to the lapels of Nick’s suit.
“Can I take your clothes off, baby?” he asks, and Nick nods again.
Charlie frees Nick from the suit jacket, the tie, the shirt that’s too tight in the shoulders. He unbuckles Nick’s belt, pulls it through the belt loop of his trouser pants and tosses it to the floor. He unbuttons the stiff black trousers and slides them down Nick’s hips, followed by his black briefs.
They barely discuss what they’ll do; there’s no “how do you want me” or “what do you need.” Charlie knows what Nick needs today.
He strips his own remaining clothing off and kisses Nick, then climbs out of bed to shower, promising he’ll be right back.
He cleans up as quickly as he can and he’s still damp moments later as he lies back on the bed, kissing Nick while the older man preps him gently.
He circles his arms around Nick’s neck as his husband sinks into him, as he buries his face into the join of Charlie’s neck and shoulder and begins to cry while his hips move.
He cleans them both up after, running a damp washcloth over Nick’s cock and his own stomach, then kisses his husband’s sweaty head for the millionth time today as the older man collapses into his arms.
“Thank you,” Nick says, quietly, into Charlie’s chest. “I still don’t understand what it all means, exactly, but I needed this. Needed you.”
Charlie smiles and runs a hand up and down Nick’s bare back.
“It means you’re alive,” he says, leaning down and whispering the words into Nick’s reddened ear. “It means you’re alive, and we’re together, and you have me. You have me forever.”
They fall asleep together and Charlie can feel it spinning around them, the truth of those words.
One day it’ll be him, or it’ll be Nick, or — in his preferred scenario — the two of them will die side-by-side in their sleep like The Notebook (which is unironically one of Nick’s favorite films).
However it goes, whatever happens, he knows they’ll find each other.
He knows this thing between them is forever.